


Crossing Lines

by WriteMeow2



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Mpreg, Video Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:34:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteMeow2/pseuds/WriteMeow2
Summary: A relationship based purely on profession, but one night changed it all. Now, Agent 47 unexpectedly finds himself pregnant with his handler, Diana's, child.As the ICA is ultimately left scrambling to find proxy and finally bring an end to The Constant. Will they succeed? Rated T for mpreg & lang. Enjoy! Chapter 2 up!
Relationships: Agent 47 & Diana Burnwood
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. Lost Opprotunity

**This is my first ever attempt at a Hitman story. As I have been a fan of this video game series for years, coupled with the semi recent release of Hitman III. I wanted to give it a shot. Warning! This is an mpreg. Rights and material belong to IO Interactive and Square Enix. Thank you for reading. Enjoy!**

* * *

He and Dianna's relationship had been strictly professional since day 1. She was his handler, he, a cold-blooded assassin. However, that wasn't to say he never allowed himself to feel emotion.

There were moments their alliance proved volatile. Both sides facing near death, somehow. They were able to put their past indiscretions behind them. The Providence may have been dismantled.

However, its leader, Arthur Edwards, aka _The Constant_ , proved to be a bit more of a challenge. The ICA had practically exhausted all its resources, but Agent 47 wasn't one to be dissuaded.

Sooner or later, he would have to come out of the shadows. The deterioration of his clandestine organization would make sure of that.

The clean shaven, iconic barcode tattooed killer, spared a glance across the magnificent suite. His entire existence, he knew nothing but a life of killing. A clone perfectly constructed for execution, but this, this was different.

He would even go so far as to say he may possibly be falling for her. She lied across the vast expanse of the king-sized bed. Dressed in nothing but a babydoll nightie and lace panties. He had to admit, it took some getting used to.

She was always so professional, never one to let personal life conflict with her professional one. But that night, she let her guard down, dare he say there was even a faint hint of a smile. This was entirely new, and albeit, rather daunting territory he was stepping into.

That assignment, that one goddamned assignment he still regrets taking, all these years later. The one resulting in her parents deaths. He turns to fully face her, pushing the tragic event to the furthest regions of his brain.

"Well?..are you joining me, 47?"

She gave a somewhat mischievous smirk. He returned a small smile. Casting his brilliant red tie to the floor.

"And you're sure about this?"

His voice finally broke. Just the mere act of speaking was enough to send shivers down one's spine. So powerful, and yet, she knew deep down, there was that side of compassion. Hearing the airy chuckles under her breath as she slipped a strand of auburn brown hair behind her ear.

"We've worked together for more than two decades. Yes..I'm quite sure"

This sent a pang straight to his heart. If only she knew the truth about her parents, she would surely retract her offer. The assassin shakes his head, briefly and abrupt. Little good attempting to vanquish the case did.

Like a mosquito bite, irritating and flaring up out of nowhere. He finds his smile is a bit wider this time. In a matter of moments, shedding his classic black suit with white dress shirt. Even finding it somewhere to softly laugh.

"Not too loud, Miss Burnwood. Next thing you know- ICA will be adding _escort service_ to my otherwise..spotless repertoire"

An entire month had passed since their brief, intimate evening. Their handler/assassin relationship resumed as usual. His icy blue eyes track the movements of their next target. A direct link to The Constant, blending into the crowds of Nhyavn in Copenhagen, Denmark. Feeling the coldness of the fiber wire between his fingers.

* * *

" _Do you still have eyes on him, 47_?"

Dianna inquired rather anxiously through his ear piece. He exhales sharply, taking cover behind a stone pillar. For once, it seemed luck was on their side. As his target decided to stop at a street vendor for coffee. All the assassin had to do was distract the merchant, assume their identity, momentarily, before poisoning his paper cup.

"Affirmative. He's stopped at a nearby vendor. I just need to find a way to inful-"

Suddenly, the stealthy killer drifted off. An inexplicable wave of nausea had a vice-grip on him. Trying everything in his power to ignore it, the bile acidic and burning as it clawed its way up his throat. He slams his eyes shut, hot tears stinging them.

The esteemed assassin leaned against the harsh cold stone for support. Hoping the wave was fleeting. However, this is where their luck would soon end. Emptying the contents of his stomach onto the once, immaculate stone path.

It only took seconds to try and compose himself, slowly lifting his head to see the devastating sight before him. His target disappeared. He could hear the pure disgust in her voice. This couldn't be happening. 

_"Goddammit! He's gone. 47, what the Hell is going on_?!"

The skilled headhunter's breathing eventually reverting back to normal. He wipes at the stray vomit with the back of his hand, a sinking in his heart. He sighs deeply. Responding in an almost sarcastic-like air.

"I'm not sure. But if you find out, let me know"


	2. Coppenhagen Came Calling

Despite their rather minor setback, the agent pressed on. It was through this iron grit that paid off. Infiltrating the target's Underground Society. Like you had been transported to an entirely different world. It brought to mind of the clandestine Bohemian Grove. Members dressed in 14th century garb, namely as plague doctors. In some ways, this was like a mix of the Ark Society with Heaven/Hell parties.

" _Have you located him_?"

Diana's sudden inquiry jolted him from his mental preparation. Relying on instinct, he easily picks their target from an otherwise indistinguishable crowd.

"Yes, but it won't be easy. Looks like Maverick has a personal bodyguard"

He hears her chuckle lightly.

" _That hasn't dissuaded you before_ "

Before long, a small smile found its way upon his face. As with all other contracts, he waits for the perfect moment to strike. Haphazardly tossing a coin within hearing range of the guard. Thankfully, the sound was sharp enough to catch his attention. He watches from behind a magnificent bronze statue, in memory of the Society's founder, Asger Hensen. The man lifts his hand, lightly touching his ear.

"Yeah, Command. I just heard something odd. Moving in to investigate"

He spoke, the words being fed through his earpiece and notifying the central base. The spot was ideal, heavily shadowed, and no one too close by. He broke away from the crowd, nearing the corner of the base of the statue. Within seconds, 47 forcibly pulls the poor, unsuspecting man in, like a hawk with its prey. Pacifying him in no time flat. He slowly removed his black leather gloved hand from the victim's mouth. Watching as his entire body had gone from harsh resistance to nothing but a rag doll.

Swiftly, he changes into the guard's uniform. Seemingly the only one in the vast room not wearing a dark plague overcoat. Making haste, cautiously dragging the guard towards the large wooden trunk behind him. However, he found lifting the body, even that couple feet off the ground. Was now inexplicably difficult, never had he experienced issues hiding unconscious bodies.

" _Is everything all right, 47_?"

Dianna asks concerned. He finally heaves the rest of the guard into the trunk and shuts the top. Making the short trip of sliding down, resting his back against the box and exhaling deeply.

"Everything's fine. I've just subdued the guard. Now, onto Maverick"

He slowly, and warily, gets to his feet. Not very many opportunities could he say he was fortunate. There wasn't another personal guard to be seen in the entire room. This was rather odd, however, not something to get hung up on. His target was the main priority. Weaving between the crowds, he neared Donovan Maverick.

Taking note of his abandoned wine glass on a nearby table. He snatches it quickly, immediately emptying the vial of emetic poison and putting it back exactly as was. Despite the wardrobe change, there was still a high probability Maverick would grow suspicious soon enough. It was best to keep his distance, he already ruined his first opportunity. He'd be damned to let it happen a second time.

Muffled, indistinct chatter and laughter surround him. Further blending within the crowd. Now, was just a waiting game. Unfortunately for the high profile assassin, that horrid, yet familiar, feeling returned. He couldn't afford to blow his cover, not with Diana and the ICA breathing down his neck. Things were expected of him, above all, an efficient and clean hit.

Suddenly, the moment he'd been waiting for finally arrived. The pale skinned man, with his salt and pepper hair obscured by the bird mask. Lifted the steampunk-esque leather nightmare from his face, taking a delicate sip from the now tainted glass of Cabernet. In seconds flat, he appeared unwell. The sound of a glass shattering as it hit the floor. Others around him took notice as he stooped over and clutched his stomach.

* * *

"Excuse me for a moment"

Maverick stated weakly to his surrounding constituents. Isolating himself from the large group, and staggering towards the nearest restroom. It was then the assassin, quite literally, went in for the kill. He had done this style of execution countless times before. In all honesty it was probably his most preferred method.

He tailed Maverick, careful to keep a considerable amount of distance between them. Even in his poisoned state, there was still a slight chance he would realize his guard was, in fact, an imposter. Blindly opening the solid mahogany door, resuming his uneasy gait towards the once immaculate toilet. 47 grimaced, as the sounds of him vomiting echoed off snow-white tiled walls. Two more paces, and he was now directly behind him.

Not wasting a second. He forcibly pushed the elite scum's head into the unpleasant slurry of sick and toilet water. He tried to put up a good fight, but in the end, the emetic won. His thrashing soon ceased, and lifeless body shoved aside like trash on the curb. That queasy feeling returned, bitter as ever. As the agent himself hunched over the porcelain. Once more, emptying the contents of his stomach.

" _Excellent work, 47. Are you okay_?"

Disgruntled, he spat the remaining sick into the bowl and flushed it away. Sparing one last glance at the Constant's former right hand, with a satisfied smirk. He cautiously departs the restroom, immediately shutting the door behind him. He makes his way back up towards where he began, by the old harbor.

"I got sick again"

Came an irritated response. Glancing around swiftly with steel blue eyes, making certain no one was growing suspicious. He hears Diana give a deep sigh.

" _In that case. I'll arrange for you to be examined at the ICA training facility. You're too much of a valuable asset, 47. We can't afford to lose you_ "

The contract killer chuckled heartily to himself.

"Why, Miss Burnwood. It almost sounds like you're falling for me"


End file.
